Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Good morning class. This is the final break from regular A-T programming. Next week we will resume with the letter "M".

I am late visiting last weeks links, but rest assured, I will be there before weeks end. Wishing all of you a 2011 filled with writing, discovery, joy and simple memory making moments.

This week feel free to post anything to do with the New Year! Year end reflections, things you want to accomplish next year, your favorite pictures or posts from 2010 or anything that comes to mind!

If you do chose to link during these holiday weeks, though, the rules of visiting still apply! Thank you.

Please link directly to your Alphabe-Thursday URL (if you don't know how to do this let me know!) and please continue to visit the five links before and after your link and leave a comment. Minimum of 10 links visited please. You can visit more if you like, of course.

I also want to let you know that each week I visit every blog. If it appears I haven't visited your blog by Thursday morning, please let me know, because it is important to me to make sure you know I've visited you! This will avoid you trying to skip out on doing your assignment as well.

If you have any difficulties with your link, please make sure to include the number of the link when you e-mail me. It is really difficult for me to find you easily otherwise.

If you have any questions about Alphabe-Thursday or problems doing your link just post it in a comment or send me an e-mail. I'll do my best to help you as quickly as I can.

The McLinkey will be live from 1:00 pm MST time Wednesday afternoon in an effort to assist our lovely "friends across the pond" and continue through 10:00 am MST time Friday morning!

And remember.... link back to this post, you need to be registered as a follower of my blog, PG posts only, and try to visit the 5 students before and after your post at minimum. The links will stay live after the final post deadline has passed so you can even wait and visit over the weekend or whenever you have more time.

Please feel free to link your New Years post now. Class is dismissed. See you all next year!

It is quiet in my house tonight. The furnace clicks away against the chill of a low desert night. Neighbor’s Christmas lights still twinkle at this late hour.

There should be snow on the ground and the violet shadows of a winter evening casting watercolor shadows…a year should not end without winter cold and ice cleansing away the cobwebs of twelve months almost past. But, alas, snow is not something we see here, and although satisfying shadows are cast from the bright moon, it is never totally the same for me as ending the year with true winter.

As 2010 winds down, I am reminded of a snippet from a poem I wrote years and years ago, “It is only at night that my demons come out, I run and I scream and I hide and I shout…but they find me.”

This year I am determined to banish the demons that seem intent on executing their ‘why’ and ‘why not’ ballet incessantly through my head, by focusing on something different. I am going to exile those relentless emotions by concentrating on what I have learned in the last twelve months, instead of trying to decipher the long list of things I am still unable to understand.

I think I finally got it through my head that it is OK to be happy when people you love are not. Each of us can choose every single day between happiness and being miserable. We can choose between joy and sorrow. Joy is a personal choice, not one that you can gift to others no matter how badly you want to or how badly you think they need it.

Sadly, I have learned that love cannot heal everything. It just can’t. When love is not enough, I have learned to just put it quietly away into my heart and save it. I can pray. I can hope. I can wish. But my love cannot and never will be strong enough to banish a loved ones demons.

People you love don’t always treat you the way you treat them. You can choose to grow bitter. You can choose to change your actions. You can choose to accept it and control how you act. Sometimes, love is not a two-way street.

There is a lot of good in the world. Sometimes I think we focus on the bad stuff, the nasty people, the horrible stories…but if we change the way we see things, there are moments when there are way more blessings then things to curse…which leads me to…

Swearing is dumb.

No matter how much you apologize or are apologized to, you can never erase ugly words said, or un-hear ugly words said to you.

We cannot teach something to someone who doesn’t want to learn. Life lessons preached to unhearing ears are meaningless blah, blah, blah.

You can only be a victim once. After that you become a volunteer.

You never, ever have to let anyone speak to you in cruelty or nastiness. You never, ever have to speak that way back to them.

A few days ago it seemed like one of the most important lessons I learned this year was eating too many Christmas cookies will shrink your jeans, but tonight that seems almost unimportant.

Perhaps it is because I am wearing my long, red flannel nightgown and I can inhale without gasping…

Or perhaps it is because it is because the hour is late...

…and the demons are gone for the moment.

I am filled with hope and possibility and promise that in the New Year I will continue to keep my heart wide open and learn the things that help me understand my life.

Before she said goodbye back, my daughter hesitated a moment, then said, “Mom, you’re such an inspiration! When I think I can’t bear what happened with Dad, I think of you…Love you, Mom…get some rest.”

An inspiration? Me? I can’t even clean under the refrigerator. And my grout is disgusting.

Inspiration? Why did I ever have kids anyway? Now I’d have to try and act like I was actually getting my life under control again. I’d have to not wish I could cry myself to death. I’d have to actually start writing my blog. I’d have to not become a vigilante and hunt down the nasty jerk in the silver SUV to get my dog back.

Darn. Darn, darn, darn! Why couldn’t it have been me who’d ‘taken a final curtain call’?

And now, here's Chapter 17!

That night when I went to bed, it was a repeat of so many awful nights I won’t even bore you with the weeping, wailing and vast expanse of empty sheets on a mattress filled with regrets, remorse, and loneliness.

I forced myself to change the pillowcases to get rid of the cookie scent, but even without that horrible reminder, I couldn’t quit weeping over the big empty spot where Edgar had slept for a few short hours.

My dreams were awful, consisting primarily of being run over by a demon-faced man driving a silver SUV. His maniacal face, framed in the windshield of the car, had me in a panic for most of my sleepless hours. Finally, I gave up and just heaved my weary body out of the rumpled, disheveled bed.

A full pot of coffee didn’t begin to address the gritty dryness of my sleep deprived eyes, but it did give me enough jittery energy to get out all my blog notes and laptop.

Wearily, I retrieved my notes. Viciously, I crumpled the page having to do with “Everything Edgar”. I also decided that ‘mylifeinsideanoyster’ was a stupid name for a blog so I crumpled up all those pages, too.

When my Dad used to call me his little oyster, I never realized how unlike an oyster I really was. If I was really an oyster, I’d have a tough, protective outer shell. I’d be sturdy. And harder. And less able to be hurt so easily. I wonder what they could have named me? Granite? Armor? Spike? Spike made me laugh. I could just imagine my mother, God rest her soul, introducing me to the bouffant-haired women in her garden club, “This is our darling little Spike,” she might have said with great pride.

I tapped my pencil on my pad and wrote down “Spike”, surrounded by all kinds of curlicues and doodles. Hadn’t I already done this once? Hadn’t I already agonized over a blog name? Did I really care?

So I uncrumpled the paper that said ‘Mylifeinsideanoyster’ and decided it was going to be just fine. After all, the blog was going to…

My thought process was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. I answered in a cheerful voice, thinking it was going to be my daughter, but it wasn’t.

It was him.

The dog thief.

And even though he only said, ‘Hello” he sounded just as nasty as the last time we’d spoken on the phone.

Feeling very “Spike-like”, I didn’t say hello back. What was the point? He was probably just calling to see if he could pick up the dog food or something.

He repeated himself, sounding even crankier the second time, “Hello? Hello?”

“What?!?” I snapped, “What do you want?”

“Lady, listen,” he said in a slightly nicer tone of voice, “I just wanted to…”

“You just wanted to what?” I yelled into the phone. “Just wanted to take Edgar without letting me even say goodbye? Just wanted to act like a total, moronic, stupid, ignorant, rude, horrible…” I would have continued, but I realized I was talking to dial tone. He’d hung up on me. Of all the nerve!

The phone rang again. This time I just picked it up and continued with my rant, “…disgusting, nasty, despicable…” and he hung up on me again.

This time I called him back. The little piece of paper with his number was still on the counter by the phone. When he answered, I shouted, “Don’t hang up on me you jerk! You moron! You ignorant..”

He interrupted me, “You already called me those names. Are you about finished?” which really, really made me angry…so I hung up on him.

I was almost panting in my anger. I wanted to beat the receiver to a broken pile of plastic shards.

And on top of that, I was a little humiliated at how out of control I’d let myself become with a total stranger…even though he was an idiotic … ummm…. idiot. So to calm myself, I walked to the sink and threw some cold water on my face. I was patting it dry on a kitchen towel adorned with pictures of smiling citrus fruit, when the phone rang once again.

Taking a deep breath, I calmly answered. I would not revert to his level of nauseating, repulsive, rudeness. I would act like I was mature and in control. And I did.

“Hello,” I said in a tranquil zen voice. There was a moment of hesitation and then he said, “Hello,” back almost pleasantly, “Are you going to scream at me some more?” I pretended to not know what he was talking about. “Excuse me?” I said politely.

“Scream at me?” he replied, “Listen lady, you really have a temper,” but I didn’t even bother dignifying his remark with an explanation. “How can I help you?” I replied.

The phone was silent. I didn’t try to help him out at all. I just waited. Finally he said in a slightly sheepish voice, “I’m calling about Spot.”

“Oh?”

“I …ummm… well…”

I didn’t show him any mercy. I just waited.

“OK, well, it’s like this…I … ummm… Oh fine! I probably could have handled that a little better.”

I wanted to blurt out in the most sarcastic voice I could find, “Well, yeah, ya think?”, but I decided not to let him off the hook, so I said nothing.

“Lady? Are you still there?”

“Yes,” I said. “Is this an apology?”

“No. It’s not an apology. I’m just calling to tell you that...”

This time I interrupted him. “If it’s not an apology, then I have nothing to say to you. Please give my love to SPOT,” Then I had said goodbye and hung up.

This time the phone didn’t ring again. I waited for a minute. And a minute more.

I thought about calling him back, but I had no idea what I would say.

Instead I made another pot of coffee and went back to work on my blog.

If it wasn’t for my daughter, I would have just abandoned the whole idea and crawled onto the couch with my BFF, the remote control. Actually, if it wasn’t for my daughter, I wouldn’t be messing with the whole blog to begin with. Actually…

I think the lack of sleep had made me too tired to figure out the whole what, where, why and who made me’s of my blog, so instead I plodded along figuring out all the screens. It was complicated. And very, very distracting. Finally, my growling stomach alerted me to the fact that hours had passed, but before I made myself something to eat, I told myself I’d write a little test post to see if I was doing everything correctly.

I clicked the button on my blog that said ‘new post’ and suddenly I saw a little rectangle labeled ‘Title’, so I typed the word “Hello” into it. A whole bunch of letters and symbols separated the small rectangle from a larger one. I told myself I’d figure them all out later and in the large rectangle I typed , “My name is Spike and this is my blog.”

I’d looked and looked at the screen with those words for a long time until I finally spotted a box that said “Preview”. When I clicked on it I could see my blog! I could see my blog with the green grass and the blue sky and just as I was trying to figure out how to make it so the whole world could see my blog, the phone rang again.

To be continued, Tuesday, January 4th.

(c) 2010 Jennifer R. MatlockThis publication is the exclusive property of Jennifer R. Matlock and is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. The contents of this post/story may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without consent of the author, Jennifer R. Matlock. All rights reserved.

Monday, December 27, 2010

...but I swear on all that is holy that just a month ago I had several pair of jeans that still fit.

Now I am down to one pair, and if eat even one more bite of a neighbor's gift of food I will soon have to resort to wearing sweatpants, or perhaps even waddle into Omar the Tentmaker's Dress Shoppe for Ye Queen Sized Women.

I started the season with good resolve. I did. I swear it's true.

But then somehow some tiny, eensy, weensy little bites of the savory crackers and baked caramel corn I made for neighbors made their way delicately into my body. When the neighbors began their Christmas deliveries of 12 pound platters of cookies, fudge and peanut brittle, things went downhill fast. Christmas wreaths made of cornflakes, green tinted marshmallow fluff and decorated with red M&M's seemed kinda/sorta healthy...corn is a vegetable, right?

And from that slippery slope of logic, things got even worse.

I realized Christmas night that I might have gone just a little berserk in the over-indulgence scenario when Mr. Jenny and I had a conversation that went something like this:

Me: Oh gosh. I am out of butter. I need some butter so I can make the breakfast casserole to take on Sunday.Mr. Jenny: Butter? Are you kidding? You're kidding right?Me: No. I'm not kidding. And while you're out, can you pick up some milk?Mr. Jenny: I'm still stuck on the butter thing. How did you go through that entire semi-load delivery of butter that you got at the start of the holiday season?

Me: I don't know. I just did. Go get the butter please. Now. Two pounds should do it.Mr. Jenny: Seriously? Do you seriously want me to go and buy butter? Tonight? When you had something like 412 1 pound boxes of it in the refrigerator just a few days ago?Me: Listen. Don't push me here. Go. Get. The. Butter. I'm not screwing around here.

This little, loving conversation did end happily because Mr. Jenny did go out and hunt heroicly to find a store open on Christmas day, and he came back with the butter.

But now that the euphoric rush of Christmas joy and goodwill is dimmed somewhat I am now possibly aware that the 414 1 pound boxes of butter combined with the 32 pounds of sugar and flour and the 23 pounds of chocolate might have somehow, someway not been the very best of ideas.

Sigh.

Sigh.

I'm just tired even thinking about the whole debacle of gaining weight over the holidays.

Next year I swear I am not getting chaffing thighs and a jellied belly for Christmas.

I mean it.

But since Santa already left them for me this year, I should really just finish off this left-over caramel corn. And maybe the last two pieces of fudge.

My neighbors might think I'm ungrateful otherwise.

And this is a time of peace, harmony and goodwill among men, right?

Tomorrow I will do better. I just know it.

But just in case, do any of you have any coupons for Omar the Tentmaker's Dress Shoppe?

Sunday, December 26, 2010

These Sunday's segments are written by my husband, Mr. Jenny. Here's what he has to say about his posts:

Since I’ve started writing “Sundays with Steve”, I’ve been thinking about vignettes of my life growing up in North Idaho. I realize the town where I grew up and the life I lived with my family is really a classic, all-American story. Perhaps you will recognize some of your childhood in these writings. And perhaps you will recognize the town you grew up in along with some of the characters you knew. Mrs. Steve has encouraged me to write these attempts of “creative writing” as opposed to the more factual journalistic style I was trained in and practiced in my early career many years ago. So my apologies if I stumble a bit here and there trying to blend the two styles together.

Wild Night at the Erawan

You’ll have to pardon me today, it is Christmas day 2010, and I’m busy doing all sorts of Christmas-y things this morning, way too busy to search the memory banks of small town life way back then. We are busy here, very, very, busy. I have to finish reading the newspaper while eating a few Christmas cookies while Mrs. Steve is cooking in the kitchen, I have to view the stash of books Santa left this morning under the tree, and I think I want to change the oil in the Jeepster before we leave for the in-laws this afternoon. I’ll be back next week with more of those small town stories.

But if you’ll excuse me, I want to share the following music review with you, one that I have enjoyed for almost 40 years now. Personally, I can’t carry a musical note out the back door in a bucket, yet alone carry one vocally or with an instrument. But I do love music, and we do enjoy live concerts from time to time. I have written a few poorly-executed concert reviews in my early journalism days, although I didn’t have clue what I was writing about. I never attempted a “high minded” classical music review, such the one that follow by Kenneth Langbell, who crafted this:Wild Night at the Erawan

The recital last evening in the chamber room of the Erawan Hotel by the United States pianist Myron Kropp, the first appearance of Mr. Kropp in Bangkok, can only be described by this reviewer and those who witnessed the performance as one of the most interesting experiences in a very long time.

It might be appropriate to insert at this junction that many pianists, including Mr. Kropp, prefer a bench to a screw-type stool, maintaining that, on a screw-type stool, they sometimes find themselves turned sideways during a particularly expressive strain. There was a slight delay, in fact, as Mr. Kropp left the stage briefly, apparently in search of a bench, but returned when informed there was none.

As I have mentioned on several occasions, the Baldwin Concert Grand, while basically a fine instrument, needs constant attention, particularly in climate such as Bangkok's. This is even more true when the instrument is as old as the one provided in the chamber-music room of the Erawan Hotel.

In this humidity, the felts that separate the white keys from the black tend to swell, causing an occasional key to stick, which apparently was the case last evening with the D in the second octave.

During the "raging storm" section of the D-minor toccata and fugue, Mr. Kropp must be complimented for putting up with the awkward D. However, by the time the storm was past, and he had gotten into the prelude and fugue in D major, in which the second-octave D plays a major role, Mr. Kropp's patience was wearing thin.

Some who attended the performance were later to question whether the awkward key justified some of the language that was heard coming from the stage. And, one member of the audience, who had sent his children out of the room by the midway point of the fugue, had a valid point when he commented over the music and extemporaneous remarks of Mr. Kropp that the workman who greased the stool might have done better to use some of the grease on the second-octave D key.

Indeed, Mr. Kropp's stool had more than enough grease; and during one passage, in which the music and the lyrics both were particularly violent, he was turned completely around.

Thus whereas his remarks had been aimed chiefly at the piano, and were therefore somewhat muted, he found himself, to his surprise, addressing his remarks directly to his audience. Mr. Kropp appeared somewhat shaken. Nevertheless, he swiveled himself back into position facing the piano and, leaving the D major fugue unfinished, commenced on the fantasia and fugue in G minor.

Why the concert grand piano's key in the third octave chose that particular time to begin sticking, I hesitate to guess. However, it is certainly safe to say Mr. Kropp himself did nothing to help matters when he began kicking the lower portion of the pedals.

Possibly, it was this jarring, or the un-Bach-like hammering to which the stuck keyboard was being subjected, that prompted the next turn of events.

In any case, something caused the right leg of the piano to buckle slightly inward, leaving the entire instrument listing at approximately a 35-degree angle from that which is normal.

A gasp went up from the audience. For, if the piano had actually fallen, several of Mr. Kropp's toes, if not his feet, would have been broken. It was with a sigh of relief, therefore, that the audience saw Mr. Kropp slowly rise from his stool and leave the stage.

A few men began clapping, and when Mr. Kropp reappeared moments later, it seemed he was responding to the ovation. Apparently, however, he had left to get the red-handled ax that was backstage in case of fire. For that was what he had in his hand.

My first reaction at seeing Mr. Kropp begin to chop at the left leg of the grand piano was that he was attempting to make it tilt at the same angle as the right leg, and thereby correct the list. However, when the weakened legs finally collapsed altogether with a great crash, and Mr. Kropp continued to chop, it became obvious to all that he had no intention of going on with the concert.

The ushers, who had heard the snapping of piano wires and splintering of the sounding board from the dining room, came rushing in and, with the help of the hotel manager, two Indian watchmen and a passing police corporal, finally succeeded in disarming Mr. Kropp and dragging him off the stage.

(c) 2010 Stephen J. MatlockThis publication is the exclusive property of Stephen J. Matlock and is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. The contents of this post/story may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without consent of the author, Stephen J. Matlock. All rights reserved.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

Merry Christmas! I decided to go ahead and post a Centus for those that wish to participate this week.

I won't get into all the mushy Christmas sentiments here on this post, (you can read those by clicking here)but know that the postscript to my star post applies to you all. It has been an honor and a priviledge to read your offerings each week. Thank you all for participating.

Ahem...

Ahem...

OK. There was a tiny, emotional moment there but I have now gathered my thoughts and can continue.

Welcome to week thirty-four of Saturday Centus.

STOP! If you didn't read the end SC's from last week, please take a moment to do so. Just work backwards until you find out where you left off. I feel really bad that the people at the end don't get read.

Thanks!

Now on to regular SC biz...In case you've forgotten...

This is a themed writing meme. You can use UP to 100 words to tell your story. The prompt does not count for your 100 words AND it must be left intact in the body of your story. As a special Christmas gift, though, you can use illustrations this week if you are so inclined. Your story can be fact or fiction, just keep it PG, please!

You have the entire week to link your work to the meme and you can link more than one story if you like.

Please display link button or just a hyper-link back to Saturday Centus. Be careful to link your SC URL to the Linky and not just link to your main blog.

I would suggest that since these are so short, if you can't think of a title just use your blog name as the title in the Linky.

Try to visit each one because there are some amazing writers participating in this meme. Since the links are so short they are also a fun and quick read.

Please e-mail me directly with ???'s or ask your question in a comment and I will do my best to get back to you as soon as possible.

This week the prompt is: "The white-bearded fat man rolled through the church doors..."

Friday, December 24, 2010

Our oldest Granddaughter, Julia, was two and a half and her sister, Riley, was just a little over one.

I had gone to babysit as I did three times each week.

The little girls were sick. Their cheeks were glowing and glorious. I remember how pretty they were…red hair damp and curly from their slight fevers.

In the process of sick children, our daughter-in-law had not had time to finish decorating the tree. It sat in the corner bedraggled and sad awaiting finery that had not yet appeared.

I had warmed the bathroom up and put the girls in a lukewarm tub to play. They were quite occupied with bath crayons. Julia was happily scribbling away while Riley attempted to eat the spongey red and blue discs.

Suddenly, mid-scribble, Julia stopped and got very serious, “Gwamma, this is my sad face.” I asked her immediately, “Why do you have a sad face?” and she replied with great sincerety, “No staw, Gwamma.”

I didn’t understand her, so I asked her again. “No staw, Gwamma,” she repeated, blue eyes big and solemn.

“No straw, Julia? You want a straw?” She patiently repeated it to me, slowly, like I was a very dumb adult, “No staw on twee, Gwamma,” then she held up the yellow and blue bath crayons and pantomimed drawing in the air. “Mine color a staw for twee, Gwamma,” she said. She had a little trouble with her pronouns back then.

I got them out of the tub, cuddling their sweet slippery, clean baby chubbiness in fuzzy bath towels. After they were dressed all warm and cozy in their tiny, blue jeans, turtlenecks and slipper socks it was snack time. After half-heartedly consuming a few crackers, Julia started again. “Gwamma. I sad. No staw on tree.”

So I commenced a search for paper, crayons, and glitter which was mostly futile. After much digging I finally found a manilla folder, some little kid’s crayons, a yellow highlighter and some glitter tubes.

We sat at their little table. Julia colored and colored and colored with crayons and the yellow highlighter all over that manila folder where I had drawn a big star for the top of the tree. While she colored Riley ‘helped’ by attempting to eat the crayons and making that gaggy, stick-out-your-tongue face that seems synonymous with trying to dine on crayolas.

Finally, finally yellow highlighter, multi-colored crayon squiggles and a few bath crayon accents completed a magnificent star. The glitter pens were dried up but Julia didn’t care. She thought her star was perfect.

After watching me carefully cut all the way around the outline of the star, Julia looked at me with a solemn face and pointed at the top of the tree. I lifted her up high into the air and after a few seconds deliberation she finally knew where she wanted to put it.

As I lowered the sweet weight of her down her peach soft cheek brushed against mine.

Safely on the ground, she put her chubby starfish hands onto her tiny jean clad hips. “Oh,” she said softly, “Gwamma, is a staw…” and her beautiful round blue eyes just sparkled with happiness.

I will never forget her face in that moment.

I will never forget the glorious satisfaction she found from a manila folder and a yellow highlighter.

Each year since when I place the angel on the top of our tree, I think of Julia and her ‘staw’…

And I am determined to find Christmas in my heart…

No matter how hidden away it seems to be some years..

…Bless you, my dear friends. You have lightened my heart this year, shared my silliness, shared my sorrows and have offered acceptance and reassurance in an extremely difficult time of my life.

Even when you haven’t known it, there have been so many times you have been the star on top of my tree. I thank you for that and I send each of you the wish and the hope that each of you has a star adding joy to your life this holiday season.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

I shiver in the dark, cold morning house. From my front window I can see the twinkle of the neighbors Christmas lights reflected in pavement wet with overnight rain. It is beautiful and fitting for this time of reflection. Today my dearest of friends mourns the passing of her dear husband and celebrates through tears and memories a life well-lived. I shared a bit of this families story in January with this post. Kind prayers for this grieving family would be appreciated.

Little drifts of snow cover the ground. The icy earth is corduroyed with frozen foliage; unbroken by green, devoid of color.

This is a hard time. A winter time. A time when emotions cut deep and breathing becomes shallow.

This might be a time, in fact, when hearts wonder if spring will ever come again.

The bulbs and roots and rhyzomes planted over the years lie dormant. It will be months before the center of their being sends tender green shoots toward the light.

Prayers offer small relief, but they do not make the shivering stop. We read moving words by a poet that remind us, “Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark. "We try, oh we try, to let that belief comfort us with the knowledge that there will be a spring again.

This is a hard time. A winter time. We shiver and wonder and doubt. And spring feels like an impossibility.

How can there be spring when the sunshine is gone? How can there be tender green shoots when we feel like the center of our being has been stolen away?

Time will pass, as it always does, whether we want it to or not.

The days will tick by on the slow-moving hands of the clock of mourning. Winter will linger and we will huddle together against the cold and against the pain of loss. We will clench our fists tightly and hold onto memories too painful to contemplate.

And one day when the sunlight slants down in a particular way, the moisture from our tears mixed with the soothing baptism of warm, spring rains, will announce to the tender bulbs and roots and rhyzomes planted over decades of devotion, that it is time to grow again.

The gentle green shoots will inch skyward and we will watch, carefully, with breath held against the possibility of more pain.

We will wait until the sunshine melts into glorious golden pools of daffodils and forsythia and the clouds drift down into fairy-tale apple blossoms and hyacinths.

We will see these amazing miracles of nature and our eyes may fill with tears. Their perfection may be painful to hearts bruised by memories.

And time will pass, as it always does, whether we want it to or not…

…until one day, we will see the tender green of a spring day, and it will be through new eyes. It will be lovely in a different way. We will tip our heads back toward the sunshine and surround our hearts with the abundant fragrance of bouquets of daffodils and lilacs.

We will release our clenched fists and let the memories of a life well-lived, a family well-loved and a man of honor, integrity and courage float in the water-color sunshine that follows a winter thaw. We will find peace.

I cannot imagine how hard it is right now to look for the light when the dawn is so very dark. Close your eyes. Lean on the love, compassion and prayers surrounding each of you until the day you are able to see the peach and pink of a spring-time dawn ready to warm your heart again.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Good morning class. This week week and next we are breaking from our normal Alphabet meme. If you have a holiday story or memory you would like to link this week that would be wonderful.

I also want to take a moment to thank each of you for participating in Alphabe-Thursday. This meme, and getting to know so many of you better, has been a blessing for me this year...I wish all of you the joy and peace of a holiday filled with contentment, loved ones and happy memories.

I imagine myself sitting in the quiet aftermath of Christmas reading your posts, but please do not worry if you are unable to link this week.

We will resume the letter "M" on January 6.

If you do chose to link during these holiday weeks, though, the rules of visiting still apply! Thank you.

Please link directly to your Alphabe-Thursday URL (if you don't know how to do this let me know!) and please continue to visit the five links before and after your link and leave a comment. Minimum of 10 links visited please. You can visit more if you like, of course.

I also want to let you know that each week I visit every blog. If it appears I haven't visited your blog by Wednesday morning, please let me know, because it is important to me to make sure you know I've visited you! This will avoid you trying to skip out on doing your assignment as well.

If you have any difficulties with your link, please make sure to include the number of the link when you e-mail me. It is really difficult for me to find you easily otherwise.

If you have any questions about Alphabe-Thursday or problems doing your link just post it in a comment or send me an e-mail. I'll do my best to help you as quickly as I can.

The McLinkey will be live from 1:00 pm MST time Wednesday afternoon in an effort to assist our lovely "friends across the pond" and continue through 10:00 am MST time Friday morning!

And remember.... link back to this post, you need to be registered as a follower of my blog, PG posts only, and try to visit the 5 students before and after your post at minimum. The links will stay live after the final post deadline has passed so you can even wait and visit over the weekend or whenever you have more time.

I know this post is a 're-gift' but it's crazy busy here with Grands out of school and the fact that I missed the fact a few weeks back that Christmas was this coming weekend.

Can I show you Christmas?

Technically her name is Riley, and she is our middle Granddaughter. Our dreamy, sweet, heart-driven, lovely Riley who is six years old. And who has one of the kindest hearts I've ever been around. Although she is wearing a pink and white dress and is holding a puppy in this photo, that's not why she is Christmas.

She is Christmas because of this drawing. And many others like it. Espcially because of who she has been drawing them for.

But I think for me it is this drawing in specific that whispers Christmas into every particle of my being. May I tell you about this picture?

This picture is drawn for a wonderful man who is suffering from so many awful things it would take me an hour to tell his tale. He is the son of one of the most loving friends I have.

This picture was drawn at Riley's own initiative. When she saw an envelope on my desk and asked who it was for and I told her "Mike" she immediately ran for the colored pencils.

This picture was drawn with two legs because Mike has had one amputated and Riley says he wants to see himself the way "his heart wants him to be."

This picture was drawn with the two of them getting onto an airplane because Mike goes back and forth between bedridden and the ICU unit at the hospital and Riley says he wants to see himself going on a trip. With her. To Disneyland.

One morning several weeks ago Riley was here in my office actually drawing a picture to send to Mike when my friend called to tell me her husband had suffered a stroke. All this in addition to dealing with the sadness and medical horrors that encompass every single moment of their life.

Riley listened to my conversation and then looked up at me to ask "Grandma, who is Bob?"

I replied "sweetie, that is Mike's Dad and he is very, very sick now, too."

And Riley said to me "oh boy, Grandma, I have a lot of drawing to do here."

And went to get another piece of paper.

Did I say that this picture whispers Merry Christmas to my soul.

It doesn't. It shouts "Merry Christmas!" to every atom that makes me who I am. It makes my heart swell with carols and pride and love and certainty.

Certainty that because this little girl exists there is still hope and love and joy and possibility and kindness in a world that sometimes feels otherwise.

And Mike, I hope this dream of walking sturdily and confidently onto an airplane to take a trip to somewhere wonderful soothes your soul and eases your pain for just a moment.

And Riley? Sweet, sweet girl.

Merry Christmas.

Since I wrote this post last year, Riley turned 7 and Mike lost his courageous battle, but this is one of my favorite posts and I hope you don't mind my sharing it again.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

OK. Look. I know it's the week before Christmas. And I know this part of the story might make you worry. And if I could have written a less worrisome chapter I would have but Pearl has a bossy way about her that makes me tell HER story and not MY story here. But as a little Christmas gift to you I will tell you, it will be OK. I'm not going to say how it will be OK, but it will. So don't get all sad. I promise.

If you missed where this story started just click here to read it or simply click on the Story-Time Tuesday link at the top of my blog to take you to previous chapters.

I wondered why I’d said an hour. Why hadn’t I said I was out of town and I’d be back in five months and that I’d bring Edgar/Spot over then? Why hadn’t I told him I’d meet him tomorrow?

Darn. Darn, darn, darn!

I tried dialing the number back, but there was no answer.

I wondered if it would it be wrong to just not show up at the park? What if I just kept the dog? The guy sounded horrible after all. I wasted about five minutes trying to convince myself that doing the wrong thing would be the right thing, just this once.

In the end, I went upstairs and took a shower. I tried sausaging myself into my jeans, resignedly admitted defeat by finally pulling on sweat pants instead. I blow dried my hair. I put some make-up on. I dawdled. I poked around. I changed my sweat pants to a pair with a stripe down the side that were more slimming. I fixed my make-up. I wanted to look as put together as possible so I could convince the nasty guy to let me keep Edgar/Spot.

Finally, when I was a good fifteen minutes late, I grabbed the dog leash, poo bag and went to my car. I opened the door and called, “Edgar, Edgar!” and he came running from the side yard and jumped in. My hopes grew for a brief moment and then I realized he’d only coming running because he liked riding in the car.

It took about 5 minutes to drive to the little park and by then I was nearly twenty minutes late. Perfect timing, it seemed, because the park was empty.

AND, NOW, THE STORY CONTINUES...

I sat in the car for a few minutes, thinking how gray and dismal the day was. It seemed a little too chilly to take Edgar/Spot outside. After a few minutes, though, he started whining and I was pretty sure he wanted to do his business, so I snapped on his leash and we walked around a little bit.

We hung out for at least ten minutes when I decided that, obviously, Mr. Grump was full of dog poo and wasn’t going to show. In hindsight, and to be truthful, it was probably closer to two minutes, but it was cold, we were hungry and tired and we both really, really wanted to go home.

I had just opened the car door to let Edgar in, (no more of that “Spot” business I decided) and was leaning over him to unsnap his leash, when I heard a single shout from across the park. I turned to look, and standing beside the open passenger door of a silver SUV was a man. I felt the leash slip through my fingers as Edgar leaped from the car and streaked toward the man at the word, “Spot!” His little body was a blur against the dreary winter backdrop and he never looked back, even once. The man closed the door, walked around the front of the car, and drove away. Just like that.

No wave. No honk. No thank you. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

I stood there totally stunned. My hand was still on the passenger door and Edgar was gone.

Gone. Absolutely gone. Like he’d never been in my life at all. The only proof he’d been there a moment before were some dog hair on the sleeve of my jacket and an unused poo bag stuffed in my pocket.

I’m not sure how long I stood there. I was certain the man was going to drive back in a moment and say, “Ha! Fooled you! Geez, did you really think a person could be that cruel?” But he never came back. The sky got grayer, the wind got colder and finally a few snow flurries drove me back inside my car. I started the engine, turned the heater on full blast and waited some more.

I was shivering down to my very soul; no matter how hard the heater blew, I could not get warm. Finally, I realized the man wasn’t coming back. Edgar was not coming back. My husband was not coming back. My life as I’d known it was not coming back.

I drove home in a fog of depression. When I opened the door to my warm, cozy kitchen, I was convinced this had all been a nightmare. Edgar would be waiting there for me.

But he wasn’t.

I told myself I was being ridiculous. I’d only had him for a short-time.

I told myself I was over-reacting. There was no way losing a scroungy little dog could hurt so badly. I didn’t even like dogs. I didn’t even want a dog. I didn’t even let my kids have a dog because dogs were too much work. Someone had to clean up after them and feed them and walk them and…

Suddenly the rage I thought I’d finally managed to control overcame me again. I opened the kitchen door and threw the stupid bowls, the stupid dog food and the stupid dog bed as hard as I could. The dog food bag broken open and the brown, meaty pellets spilled in an arc across the dead, late fall grass of the yard.

I kicked the door shut. Hard. And I screamed and kicked the door again.

Then I lay on the kitchen floor in a puddle of sorrow and wept until I was exhausted.

I remember hoping I might cry myself to death. Was that even possible? Surely, after you’ve had your heart broken and your dog stolen, death by tears should be an option. It would be an easier solution than trying to get through every single subsequent day, right?

Unfortunately, though, I wasn’t able to cry myself to death even though I gave it a heroic effort.

After awhile, I realized I needed to get up off the floor, but the concept seemed beyond anything I could manage, so I continued to lie there, hoping still to die.

After awhile the phone rang, but I ignored it. I contemplated the grout lines in the tile and realized they needed a good scrubbing. The phone rang again. I thought a little bit about answering it, but it was waaaaayyyy across the kitchen and I was clearly incapable of walking that far. From my position on the floor I could see underneath the refrigerator; it was disgusting under there. I tried to recall whether I’d ever actually moved it to clean under it before. The phone rang again.

For Heavens Sake! How was a person supposed to cry themselves to death when the phone wouldn’t stop ringing AND they were lying on a disgustingly dirty kitchen floor?

When the phone began ringing a fourth time, I realized that it might be the dog thief calling. I leaped up and grabbed it, hoping against hope I’d hear his snarly voice come over the phone line, but instead it was my daughter.

“Mom? Are you there? I’ve been calling. Everying okay?”

What I wanted to say was, “Everything okay? Are you freakin’ kidding me? Okay? Not by a long shot!”

“You sound stuffy Mom? Have you been crying?” she asked in a concerned voice.

What I wanted to say was, “Of course I’ve been crying! Life is terrible. Life sucks. Life is not worth living…get out now, while you’re still young,” but what I actually said was, “I think I’m getting a cold, what’s up?”

“I just wanted to see what you found out about Edgar’s owner? Did you get hold of someone?”

And I’m ashamed to say I lied. I told a tale worthy of a Tall Tale Telling contest. I told her I’d found the owners! Hooray! Such a good thing! They were so happy to get Spot back! There was a little boy and he cried when he saw his dog! I told her the people had been so happy, they had invited me over to dinner! And given me a reward! And had hugged and thanked me so much that I had actually become embarrassed.

“I wonder why they hadn’t micro-chipped the dog,” she asked. “I wonder how he got out?”

The lies continued. They were definitely going to microchip darling little Spot now! And wasn’t that just the cutest name? The little boy had named him Spot because that was the only dog name he knew. Spot had escaped out of the back yard and they had advertised and put up flyers and called all the vets! And, and, and!

I surprised myself a little bit by how talented I was at lying, then I wrapped all the lies up into one big box and tied them with a bow by telling my daughter I needed to get to bed, so I could head off the cold…after all, I had a blog to write.

Before she said goodbye back, my daughter hesitated a moment, then said, “Mom, you’re such an inspiration! When I think I can’t bear what happened with Dad, I think of you…Love you, Mom…get some rest.”

An inspiration? Me? I can’t even clean under the refrigerator. And my grout is disgusting.

Inspiration? Why did I ever have kids anyway? Now I’d have to try and act like I was actually getting my life under control again. I’d have to not wish I could cry myself to death. I’d have to actually start writing my blog. I’d have to not become a vigilante and hunt down the nasty jerk in the silver SUV to get my dog back.

Darn. Darn, darn, darn! Why couldn’t it have been me who’d ‘taken a final curtain call’?

To be continued, Tuesday, December 28st.

(c) 2010 Jennifer R. MatlockThis publication is the exclusive property of Jennifer R. Matlock and is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. The contents of this post/story may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without consent of the author, Jennifer R. Matlock. All rights reserved.

Monday, December 20, 2010

As of Friday night, sadly and pathetically we didn't have our tree up yet. In years past I have put up as many as three Christmas trees (during one particularly obsessive year I actually did four...sigh) but for the past several holidays we've cut back to a single tree.

It's artificial.

Don't be a hater. We live in Arizona. Real trees cost about a gazillion dollars here and I think they're bad for the environment or something. I am all about saving the environment at Christmas, aren't you?

OK, OK. I'll tell the truth. It has nothing to do with the environment and I'm pretty sure trees don't cost a gazillion dollars here. It's just that I've gotten lazy in my old age. There! Happy now?

And I really, truly wasn't trying to manipulate him on Friday night when I told him that when our Granddaughters had arrived at the house after an early release from school on Friday, they had run frantically from room to room. I wasn't sure what was happening until the middle one said, "OK Grandma! We give up! Where did you hide the tree?" Describing the shocked look on her face when I'd had to inform her that it wasn't up yet might have been the catalyst for Mr. Jenny's kind offer.

On Saturday morning, there was hardly any swearing in the living room and after only a few thumps and bumps he came into my office and proudly ushered me out to see his work.

The only problem was he had put up the wrong tree.

The tall, skinny tree purchased for the high ceilings of the living room did not fit comfortably into the lower ceilinged family room.

BUT...

Mindful of the fact that some of you say I am too hard on him...

And driven by the possibility that he might say, "Well, just put up the other one yourself then..."

I kept my mouth shut.

I didn't sigh.

I didn't cross my eyes.

I just said, "Thank you."

Aren't you proud of me?

The end.

...

...

OK, it's not really the end.

Because when we got home from a Christmas party Saturday evening he looked at the tree and said, "Hmmm...that doesn't look right. Is that the right tree?"

And I, in keeping with the generous spirit of Christmas, replied, "No, but it looks good. It is just fine."

"Is it too tall?" he inquired.

I did not reply, "Well, d'oh...all trees are supposed to be bent over at the top like that." Instead I graciously told him, yet again, "It's just fine. Thank you for doing that."

Sunday morning I was doing some writing when I heard some thumping, bumping and swearing coming from the family room. I did not investigate. I thought perhaps Mr. Jenny had found one of my old Richard Simons 'Sweating to the Oldies' VCR tapes and was trying to surprise me with a six-pack for Christmas.

More thumping and bumping...a few more swear words...

A six-pack! What fun that would be. I gave him his privacy.

Finally, he came into my office all sweaty and red-faced. Richard Simons! I knew it!

But instead of showing me his well muscled abs, he said, "Come with me." I followed him to the family room where the correct Christmas tree had been assembled. The skinny, too tall tree was gone.

Gosh.

I was a little surprised and not disappointed at all that I wouldn't be getting a six-pack for Christmas.

Instead I got the perfect tree. From the perfect husband.

And besides. If he had gotten a six-pack for Christmas then I would have had to get one as well.

And to be honest, I think I might have missed our jelly bellies.

In fact, I'm certain of it. Without them I'm not sure if we could fill out our Santa and Mrs. Claus suits correctly?

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Since I’ve started writing “Sundays with Steve”, I’ve been thinking about vignettes of my life growing up in North Idaho. I realize the town where I grew up and the life I lived with my family is really a classic, all-American story. Perhaps you will recognize some of your childhood in these writings. And perhaps you will recognize the town you grew up in along with some of the characters you knew. Mrs. Steve has encouraged me to write these attempts of “creative writing” as opposed to the more factual journalistic style I was trained in and practiced in my early career many years ago. So my apologies if I stumble a bit here and there trying to blend the two styles together.

Home for Christmas

The snow was falling thickly that Christmas Eve day in 1967 and sticking to the streets of our North Idaho town. Starting to barely accumulate by noon, it would build to ten inches by nightfall…a lot for our town. It would bring the normal frantic last shopping day of the season to an early end, with the hilly main streets closed to those without chains. In a town where deep snowfall was rare, most did not have chains. Worst than the lack of chains, perhaps, was the fact that the town, which averaged maybe 18 inches of snow a year, did not own a snow plow.

It was my first Christmas break from college. I drove the 500 miles in my Volkswagen Fastback easily, arriving in Lewiston the night before and beating the winter storm by hours. Over time I would become accustomed to the 11 -12 hour drive over the primarily two- lane mountain roads that traversed the western side of the Rockies, between home in North Idaho and the Southeast corner of the state where I attended Idaho State University, but that was one of my first trips.

On Christmas Eve my Volkswagen navigated deftly up and down the hills of town, delivering my mother’s carefully wrapped presents to family friends along with other deliveries to family members and picking up a few last minutes items at downtown stores. The real purpose of all the errands, I suspected, was to show off the new college son…me!

Though I had known most of the family friends I visited that day, I had not encountered many of them in several years. This was the first time I had spent in the town since enrolling in college at the other end of the state immediately following high school graduation.

I’m not sure what kind of reaction I was expecting from those family friends, or from my grandmother or aunt whom I would see that afternoon as well. I wasn’t nervous about my decision to go to Idaho State University, even though there was somewhat of a tradition in our family to attend the state’s major university just 30-miles away from our town. My older brother, Gordon, was in his third year there, my mother had graduated from that school as well, and my aunt had attended there along with several cousins. It was assumed, growing up, that you will go to college -- that was not a question in our household -- and you would go to the University of Idaho. Neither topic was ever discussed, it was just assumed. Most of the family friends I would see that afternoon were U. of Idaho alumni or at least strong supporters of the school.

It was a radical decision, I thought, and an unknown one in our family and circle of friends, to go somewhere so far away and to an unknown school at that. That snowy day in December was my return to “face the music” of my decision.

The State of Idaho at that time had just two four- year universities, and three or four junior colleges. There were only about 400,000 people in the state then, not a lot of population to support a full blown public university system. The traditional senior land-grant school was the University of Idaho at Moscow, 30-miles “up the hill” from home in Lewiston; while Idaho State had started as a “normal” school in the 1920s and didn’t reach four-year university status until the late 1950s. Idaho State was an unknown entity in our North Idaho region, interaction between it and the northern part of the state was mostly non-existent.

(For those of you who follow such things, the Boise State University that is making a lot of noise in the national college football world as known then as BJC – Boise Junior College. My son, Chris, and I are ardent fans and I have even converted Mrs. Steve to a casual fan as well,)

I don’t think my parents ever understood my decision to go to Idaho State. I liked to say the decision was rooted in academics. Additionally, Idaho State had awarded me a scholarship in journalism to attend there (at $350 per semester, and not a huge amount of money even then); that its journalism staff had poured a lot of public and private praise on me the previous spring and I certainly enjoyed that, it had never happened to me before; and that I felt more comfortable at its small campus (student population then 4,000) than at the state’s much larger university (with 6,000 student then). And all of that was absolutely true. But all of those reasons are not why I really went there.

I also liked to say, at least privately, that Idaho State was as far away from home I could go to school and still stay in-state. In state was not important to me, but the difference of in-state vs. out of state costs at many colleges I looked at, was amazingly steep and unaffordable. I was anxious to break out of our small town society and its familiar surroundings. Everything around me felt too close, too confining, too constricting. I felt that the family knew everything I did, every step I took, and judged each of those closely. I loved being away from home, being away from our town, on my frequent summer trips in those years, trips following local sports teams for the daily newspaper, or the summer on the farm, or another summer adventure climbing in the Cascades.

Coming home that first Christmas was going to be a trial, I was sure, on my decision to leave Lewiston and North Idaho. I expected some criticism and sharp comments. The first one caught me off-guard: ‘I was pleased and proud to see you ran for office’, my mother said, she had seen the article in the student newspaper that came each week from Idaho State, ‘I didn’t know you were interested in politics.’ I had run for freshman class president that fall, maybe as a statement that I was making a break from my comfortable home in the North. I was caught off guard, I didn’t expect a bit of praise from my mother, who I knew was disappointed in my decision to attend the school. It was the first of many from her that vacation. My father didn’t say much, but his attitude had changed toward me, as did the attitude of most people I saw that day.

That afternoon navigating the deepening snows of Christmas brought a continuing series of surprises: There was a stream of support for my decision to leave Lewiston, to follow my desires rather than the family’s tradition. There were questions about everything in my new life, as if I had moved to another planet or another country, rather than just across the state. There were questions about potential girl friends (no), fraternity life, classes, the outside employment I held, religion at our school (it was a 70% Mormon population both on campus and in that region of the state), college sports, outdoor life in the remote regions of Idaho that most had never been along with endless other topics.

It was an eye-opening afternoon for me: Instead of criticism of my decision of leave Lewiston and North Idaho from the family and friends I saw that day, I sensed pride in what I had done and what I was doing. It was something I had never experienced before.

But there was something more: Before I left the town earlier that year, I was treated by the adults in the community as just another high school student. For those who went to the nearby University of Idaho and returned to Lewiston frequently, the way they were treated by the community didn’t change, they were still local kids whose every move was scrutinized and judged. It would take ten years or more for my classmates to break that community attitude.

But that attitude broke for me that Christmas Eve day. The community didn’t judge me anymore, it treated me on my first visit back as a mature adult making mature decisions, and living a responsible life. Leaving home that year was a big decision for me, although I didn’t understand the implications and the sociology of it for many years, it was the right decision for me. Coming home for Christmas that first year immediately confirmed, to my pleasant surprise, that my decision had been the correct one.

(c) 2010 Stephen J. MatlockThis publication is the exclusive property of Stephen J. Matlock and is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. The contents of this post/story may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without consent of the author, Stephen J. Matlock. All rights reserved.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

STOP! If you didn't read the end SC's from last week, please take a moment to do so. Just work backwards until you find out where you left off. I feel really bad that the people at the end don't get read.

Thanks!

Now on to regular SC biz...In case you've forgotten...

This is a themed writing meme. You can use UP to 100 words to tell your story. The prompt does not count for your 100 words AND it must be left intact in the body of your story. No illustrations are permitted. Your story can be fact or fiction, just keep it PG, please!

You have the entire week to link your work to the meme and you can link more than one story if you like.

Please display link button or just a hyper-link back to Saturday Centus. Be careful to link your SC URL to the Linky and not just link to your main blog.

I would suggest that since these are so short, if you can't think of a title just use your blog name as the title in the Linky.

Try to visit each one because there are some amazing writers participating in this meme. Since the links are so short they are also a fun and quick read.

Please e-mail me directly with ???'s or ask your question in a comment and I will do my best to get back to you as soon as possible.

This week the prompt is: "What was he thinking? OMG! Elves are soooo 2009..."

Friday, December 17, 2010

Yesterday I had breakfast with some friends, did a few errands and then went to visit another friend...

...when I got home Mr. Jenny asked me if I had had a good time, but when I answered the question, he kept looking at me quizzically...

I'm not sure why...here's what I told him...

...

i met up with cyndie and debbie and we had breakfast and talked and talked and talked and cried and hugged and it was really fun and i really miss those guys gosh i really miss them why don't i see them more often and don't you think it's just ridiculous that i'm too busy to see friends and just because it's christmas isn't an excuse not to see them the rest of the year and they gave me this beautiful bowl they made in ceramics just for me and musette even threw the pottery just because...

DEEP BREATH...

she misses me and don't you think that's sweet that she misses me but i really miss cyndie and debbie and did i tell you how wonderful it was to see them and then i had to to take care of some other stuff and did i tell you we had to meet early for breakfast because debbie has a job now so after we i got done there i went to do some other stuff and then i was driving by the orange patch and i saw they had a sale and i was going to run in there but...

DEEP BREATH...

instead i talked to roxie and she had a family thing and i wanted to see her because i haven't seen her in a long time either which is really sad don't you think it's sad and did i tell you debbie got a job and then i stopped to get coffee for roxie and me and did you know that they have a new flavor now there which is peppermint for christmas and you can get it mocha or plain but i just got gingerbread which i liked but i didn't love and...

DEEP BREATH...

ok so and then i drove to roxies and i was surprised that the coffee was still hot and her house looks really beautiful for christmas and do you know i need to get the christmas stuff decorated because...

I didn't even need to take a deep breath, but Mr. Jenny totally interrupted me. "How much coffee did you drink this morning?" he asked me.

"Why? why are you asking me is it because i'm in a good mood don't you want me to be in a good mood don't you think that it's good that i'm in a good mood and..."

He interrupted me again, "How much?"

I had to think for a moment and then I replied, "well...i had a cup this morning and then i had like three ummm maybe four cups with breakfast but they weren't giant cups they were more little medium cups or maybe even smallish medium cups and then ... ummm.... i guess i had a pretty large gingerbread latte and i forgot to get it decaf and did you ever hear the joke about the cow and..."

And you know what?

Mr. Jenny interrupted me again to say, "You've been complaining you're way behind on Christmas. Maybe you should take advantage of this buzz and get stuff done."

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Actually tonight I can say that even though I'm not the winner because I have a chicken casserole thing baking in the oven...but...you don't really care about that, do you? You just want to know if you won.

There were 37 comments. I asked Random Org to pick 1 winner for this gift.

#1 Terra (I don't think I've ever had it select number one before so I was surprised!)

Anna is offering a 15% discount on any other item in my Esty shop parltradet, if you use this coupon code: JENNY15

Will today's drawing winners please e-mail so I can sort out getting your prizes to you? jennymatlock at cox dot net

Thanks so much everyone for playing along!

Everyone except the winner of the Lisa Leonard and the Studio 48 giveway - your prizes were mailed out today. As soon as I have the ordering information. I mailed everything priority mail so if you don't receive it by the middle of next week, please e-mail me right away.

When the sun comes up and the sky glows pink and peach, the tree is luminous...like liquid gold poured onto shiny green leaves.

Our neighbors all share in the bounty of the lemon tree. We make pies and lemon bars and lemonade and freeze the rind and juice against the summer when all the luscious fruits whither away in the heat.

And each year at Christmas I gift my friends with boxes of fragrant yellow orbs strewn with red and white peppermint candies...a gift sure to bring a smile to snow and ice-bound loved ones.

In the spirit of the season, I would like to do a little lemon giveaway today for you, my Alphabe-Thursday friends. I will choose several names from those linked to the meme for this week. Please let me know in your comment if you would like to receive lemons. I will draw the names on Saturday and get them mailed out the same day, priority, so you will have them to scent your home with the fragrance of citrus, sunshine from an Arizona friend.

Congratulations to all the winners! You have 48 hours to e-mail me (jennymatlock at cox dot net) with their mailing information. If I haven't heard from you by Friday night, midnight, I will pick a new winner on Saturday.

And you can still enter on Thursday for another chance to win the $65 CSN giveaway, by clicking here.

Good morning class. This week we are learning about the lively letter:

Before you link, though, please STOP and read this! The links toward the end seem to be missing a lot of visitors. If you get a chance try to read the five before your name and the very last five on the linky and maybe that will help balance it out a bit. Thank you.

Please link directly to your Alphabe-Thursday URL (if you don't know how to do this let me know!) and please continue to visit the five links before and after your link and leave a comment. Minimum of 10 links visited please. You can visit more if you like, of course.

I also want to let you know that each week I visit every blog. If it appears I haven't visited your blog by Wednesday morning, please let me know, because it is important to me to make sure you know I've visited you! This will avoid you trying to skip out on doing your assignment as well.

If you have any difficulties with your link, please make sure to include the number of the link when you e-mail me. It is really difficult for me to find you easily otherwise.

If you have any questions about Alphabe-Thursday or problems doing your link just post it in a comment or send me an e-mail. I'll do my best to help you as quickly as I can.

The McLinkey will be live from 1:00 pm MST time Wednesday afternoon in an effort to assist our lovely "friends across the pond" and continue through 10:00 am MST time Friday morning!

And remember.... link back to this post, you need to be registered as a follower of my blog, PG posts only, and try to visit the 5 students before and after your post at minimum. The links will stay live after the final post deadline has passed so you can even wait and visit over the weekend or whenever you have more time.

..but frankly I'm getting sick of being fooled by those sweet looking little faces. I tested the rumor, yet again, that they are helpful and kind and jump right in to help with any and all chores.

A few days ago I started getting out my Christmas decorating stuff (pictures are blurred to let me maintain a teeny, tiny bit of my pride...sigh) and I deliberately left a big mess just so the elves would feel needed.

Ya know? I was just trying to do my part to help build their confidence because I read somewhere that elves have notoriously low self-esteem...being so short and all...

Just trying to do my part as a compassionate, caring, non-elf-discriminatory type person and all.

And what do they do? They obviously just came over and hung out in the living room, probably found the wine fridge, maybe found the hidden bag of hershey kisses...

They just did absolutely, totally, zero in the help department.

And I'm disgusted.

But since I am all fair-minded and everything I'm willing to leave the mess up just one more day to give them a chance to redeem themselves.

Sigh...

You can go to the link to all 7 Giveaways if you want to enter one last time by just clicking here. I shall sit down with a big ol' tumbler of whiskey ... ummm.... I mean a glass of ice water ... and ask Mr. Random Integer to help me do the first five drawings tonight! Good luck to you all... and to all a good night.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Jenny Matlock...Off on a Tanget gave to me,Seven straight days of giveaways...For things I can put 'neath my Holiday tree!

This is the seventh day of the Seven day giveaway. You can enter every contest every day for seven chances to win in each!

Today I have a wonderful Rainbow Jewelry giveaway from Christina Wigren. Many of your know her as Anna from our Alphabe-Thursday meme. To give you time to look over Anna's jewelry I will extend this last giveway until Thursday with a reminder to enter each day if you like! The CSN giveaway will also be drawn on Thursday as well.

To enter for a chance to win this wonderful armful of rainbow bangles, simply go to Christina's site by clicking here and telling me which item of jewelry catches your eye there.

I will personally attest to the quality and beauty of this jewelry. I have ordered several times as gifts and been really pleased each time.

If you missed the 13th Day before Christmas giveaway for the $65 dollar CSN giveaway click here.

If you missed the 14th Day before Christmas giveaway for a box of Trader Joe's yummy holiday treats and a vintage apron, click here.

If you missed the 15th Day before Christmas giveaway for a mixed media original piece of art from Studio 48, click here.

If you missed the 16th Day before Christmas giveaway for an ImageMeri shadow box or want to enter that drawing again, click here.

If you missed the 17th Day before Christmas giveaway for a $50.00 gift certificate for a Lisa Leonard creation or want to enter that drawing again, click here.

If you missed the 18th Day before Christmas giveaway for a $25.00 Amazon Gift card, or want to enter that drawing again, click here!

And if you missed the rules of the giveaway, here they are again!

1. You must be a follower of this blog.2. I must be able to get hold of you easily. If your e-mail addy is not linked to your blog please provide it in your comment.3. Regular blog programming will proceed so there may be two posts in one day. All giveaways will be linked AND you can find them by clicking on the words "Christmas Giveaway" at the bottom right of my blog.4. You can enter each giveaway 7 times - once each day. I will put links to all drawings on each giveaway to make your life easier!5. All drawings will be conducted with Mr. Random Integer generator on Wednesday evening, December 15th except for drawing 6 and 7. Those winners will be drawn on December 17th. Winners will have 48 hours to claim their prize or I will re-draw a name.6. Anyone can enter. If you live far away, though, you might not get your box before Christmas but I'll try really, really hard.